The Don's runaway bride

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE PACKAGE

Elena followed Dante downstairs without another word.

Her mind raced.

Someone had broken into her father's house.

They hadn't stolen anything.

They had left something.

For her.

"What did they leave?" she asked.

Dante kept walking.

"You'll see."

"I hate when you say that."

"I know."

They entered Dante's office.

Marco stood beside the desk, staring at a small black box.

Elena stopped.

"That's it?"

Marco nodded.

"It was placed in the middle of the living room."

"Who found it?"

"One of our men."

Elena looked at Dante.

"And nobody thought opening it was a good idea?"

Dante's expression remained serious.

"It has your name on it."

Elena's stomach tightened.

Written across the top of the box were two words.

FOR ELENA.

Her fingers went cold.

"Open it," she whispered.

Dante immediately looked at her.

"No."

She frowned.

"You brought me here to see it."

"I brought you here because you deserved to know."

"Then let me open it."

"It could be dangerous."

Elena crossed her arms.

"Everything around me is apparently dangerous."

Dante sighed.

Then nodded toward Marco.

"Check it."

Marco carefully examined the box.

After a few tense seconds, he opened it.

Elena held her breath.

Inside was—

A music box.

Small. Old. Wooden.

Elena stared at it.

"That's my mother's."

Dante's eyes snapped toward her.

"You recognize it?"

She walked closer.

"My mother used to play it for me when I was little."

Marco looked between them.

"Should we check inside?"

Elena nodded.

He carefully opened the music box.

A soft melody began playing.

Elena froze.

She hadn't heard that tune in years.

Then she noticed something.

A tiny piece of folded paper hidden beneath the mechanism.

"Wait."

Dante stepped forward.

"Elena—"

She was already reaching for it.

Dante grabbed her wrist.

"Don't."

She pulled away.

"It's mine."

Slowly, she unfolded the paper.

There were only six words written on it.

Ask your husband about the fire.

Silence.

Elena slowly raised her eyes.

Dante hadn't moved.

But his face had changed.

Only slightly.

Enough.

"What fire?" she asked.

No answer.

Her heart began pounding.

"Dante."

Marco looked away.

That was all Elena needed to see.

She stepped back.

"You both know."

"Elena—"

"What fire?"

Dante's jaw tightened.

"It's complicated."

She laughed without humor.

"Of course it is."

"Not now."

"Not now?" Her voice rose. "Someone breaks into my father's house, leaves my dead mother's music box, and tells me to ask you about a fire—and you want to say NOT NOW?"

Dante walked toward her.

Elena stepped back.

"Don't."

He stopped.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then the music box suddenly stopped playing.

Click.

Everyone froze.

Elena looked down.

The lid had closed by itself.

Marco reached for it.

But before he could touch it—

A voice recording began playing.

A woman's voice.

Soft.

Familiar.

Elena's knees weakened.

She hadn't heard that voice in fifteen years.

Her mother's voice.

"Elena, if you're hearing this..."

Elena covered her mouth.

Dante went completely still.

The recording continued.

"It means I failed to keep you away from them."

Elena's tears began falling.

Then the voice suddenly changed.

Fear entered it.

"You must never—"

The recording cut off.

Static filled the room.

Elena stared at the music box.

"Dante."

He didn't answer.

She slowly turned toward him.

Her voice broke.

"Who are 'them'?"

Before Dante could answer, the lights went out.

Darkness swallowed the room.

Then Elena heard a sound behind her.

A whisper.

Right beside her ear.

"He won't tell you."

Elena screamed.